


Death is a Drama

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, five headcanon au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 08:41:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Publisher/Author AU





	Death is a Drama

1

He stands at her table, skinny latte ready. Her eyes roll up to take him in but she doesn’t move her head. He does see the slight purse of her lips, the flare of her nostrils and hears the small tap of her index finger against the page of her journal.

“Dr Scully. Do you mind if I join you?” He sits anyway. She reads on, hair swinging over her face. He scans the document, catching some of the words but none of the meaning. “I really enjoyed your senior thesis,” he says, then puts his card next to her coffee.

She sits back in her chair, sceptical smile playing on her lips. “You’re the one who asked the question about extraterrestrials. What was that all about?”

“Just seeing where you sat on the plausible vs implausible scale.”

She shifts slightly, opening her mouth to speak before closing it again. “What do you want, Mr…” she looks at the card. “Dr…Mulder?”

“I think you have a book in you, Dr Scully, and I’d like to be the one to publish it.”

2

He doesn’t expect to hear from her so soon. He’s running and only answers the phone when he reaches the crossing.

“Dr Mulder, it’s Dana Scully. We met at the Future of Science Conference.” Her tone is clipped, like she’s trying to hide her words away.

“You’re intrigued by my proposition.” She doesn’t respond. “But you’d like to meet in person to discuss it more?”

She suggests the First Ladies Water Garden and they watch the fountain sprays catch the late afternoon sun.

“You’re an Oxford educated psychologist whose sister disappeared when she was eight. You spent time working as an FBI agent, in Violent Crimes, but you quit suddenly. You own a small publishing house called Reticula that specialises in paranormal non-fiction and you also co-publish The Lone Gunman newsletter.” She turns to him. “I find it difficult to believe that you might be interested in what I have to say. Perhaps you should be talking to my partner. What can I possibly bring to your table?”

He looks at the way she’s standing, face tilted, eyebrows raised, hips square to him, shoulders back, hands clasped, feet in high pumps, suit-jacket buttoned. She’s wearing an intrigued, expectant half-smile.

He should say ‘credibility’, he should say ‘integrity’, he should say ‘authority’ but he smiles and says, “earnestness.”

3

He thinks she’s beginning to turn. She listens as he outlines his proposal, asking pertinent questions about potential audience, sales history, promotional requirements. They’re walking back towards the car park when urgent footsteps close in on them.

“Scully!” A woman’s voice calls out, curt, almost angry.

Scully slows, looks up at him, apologising with her eyes. “My partner.”

“Ah,” he smiles, “maybe she might like to co-author?”

“I doubt it,” Scully says, low. “That would mean sharing.”

“Diana Fowley,” the woman barks. “Special Agent.” She extends a hand. “You’re the reason I haven’t been able to get hold of my partner.”

“Sorry,” Scully says, “we were just about finished. I’ll be in contact.”

“What do you do, Mr…?”

“Mulder. Doctor Fox Mulder. I’m a publisher.”

Fowley laughs. But it’s heavy with cynicism and the way she grips his hand so that he has to extract it with some force, makes him feel that the balance in the partnership with Scully is out. “And what could you possibly be talking to Dana for?”

He doesn’t answer, just nods at Scully and thanks her for her time.

4

She stands at his table, skinny latte ready. His eyes roll up to take her in but he doesn’t move his head. He hopes she sees the slight purse of his lips, the flare of his nostrils and hears the small tap of his index finger against the page of the manuscript.

“Dr Mulder. Do you mind if I join you?” She sits anyway.

He reads on, hears her sharp intakes of breath. “A lot of your FBI records are redacted. Why would that be?”

He shrugs but hears Paterson’s vicious mauling voice in his mind, reminding him what a useless pile of shit he was, and tearing into him for his failure to act quickly enough to stop more innocent children from being murdered.

Fowley presses on. “Your pursuing of Agent Scully is a mistake. Her area of expertise is too narrow for your domain and I truly cannot understand your fascination.” She slides her fingers to meet his. “Unless, it’s a purely romantic attachment on your part? And if that is the case, Dr Mulder, I can assure you that you are wasting your time on that endeavour. She has a nickname at the Bureau.”

He bites. “And what’s that?”

“Agent Orange. Because she burns everyone who gets too close.” Fowley smiles brightly at her own joke. “I do believe that I might have more to offer your publishing house. It seems to me that our way of thinking is much more aligned. Scully has been assigned to debunk my work. She sees everything in black and white, where you and I, we view the world in colours.”

Pushing his chair back, he apologises. “I have to go. And I’m pretty sure that if you’d thoroughly checked my record, you would have seen my diagnosis of protanopia.”

He’s missed a call from Scully and when he hears her message, he imagines her aflame, melting hearts, and feels his own heat up in his chest as he gets in the car.

5

He meets Scully at Wan Loy and orders the banquet for two. She is dressed more casually and it suits her, makes her look younger, softer. Not like a woman who sets fire to people for fun. He can’t get enough of her.

“Agent Fowley approached me today.”

Her eyes widen. “What did she want?”

“She wanted in,” he says, dipping a dumpling in soy.

“But she doesn’t fit the profile.” Scully sips her wine. Outside, it starts raining, water splashing violently against the windows.

“And you do?”

She rolls her shoulders. “Look, I might not fit the profile of your other authors, but I can fit the brief. The cases I’ve worked on, the things I’ve seen. Some of them are downright…”

“Spooky?”

She laughs. It suits her. She takes in a deep, slow breath. Something is changing within her. “My work has been my only outlet for too long. Over the last few years, I’ve had some…health issues and it forced me to think about the future. My future. Agent Fowley has developed some liaisons with people who don’t fit comfortably with my worldview and…” she stops, looks at him. That same earnest expression that he saw from the outset. The honesty she can’t hide. The truthfulness that runs in her blood. “You want a book about the arcane and the mysterious but explained in scientific terms? I can write it.”

He doesn’t doubt it. He gets the feeling that Dana Scully’s writing, if it’s anything like her heart, could drag you in, envelope you, never let you go. A tingle runs up his spine. “I read about that case you investigated in Texas where bodies had been completely exsanguinated and bore strange marks, like the holes that fangs might leave.”

“Agent Fowley suspected vampirism,” she says, rolling her lips together. “She killed a boy…it was terrible.”

“But what were your findings?”

She bites into a rice paper roll. “I found out that Agent Fowley can’t sing. And that some alleged vampires are pretty good looking.”

He smiles, pulls his collar away from his neck. Dana Scully is warming him up in ways he hadn’t expected and he’s here for it. “Do you like bagels?”

“Only with real cream cheese,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

“I have them every morning for breakfast.”

The rain hammers harder and her laugh is sucked up in the noise. “That is quite possibly the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard, Fox.”

He figures he deserves that. Lightning flashes across the sky and he feels like he’s losing time. “So, you’ll sign with us?”

She nods, looking out at the lashing rain. “What’s the title of our book going to be, Mulder?”

The waiter brings silver trays of sizzling beef. The air is filled with aromatic ginger and garlic. “Do you have an idea?”

Her eyes gleam. Of course she does.

“I was thinking ‘Death is a Drama’.” Her face lights up brighter than the sky in the storm. His heart thunders in his chests. Beginning, middle and end, he thinks. The perfect story.


End file.
